Revenge of the Kudzu Debutantes

by Cathy Holton

  “Well, hey, Miz Zibolsky,” she said, her bad eye bouncing over Lavonne and rolling, slowly, to one side.

  “Hello, Mona.”

  “Excuse my appearance,” she said, patting her hair back up into her hairnet and wiping her floured fingers on her apron.

  “It sure smells good in here.”

  “Does it? I guess I’m so used to the smell, I never notice it.”

  “It makes me hungry just standing here.”

  “Here, try some of this.” She lifted a plate holding small squares of cut bread and offered it to Lavonne. Lavonne took one of the squares and popped it into her mouth. It was delicious.

  “Pumpkin bread,” Mona said.

  “I love the cream cheese icing,” Lavonne said. She stood there holding her briefcase. “Should we meet in here or out front?”

  Mona indicated a little table in front of the window. “Let’s sit here,” she said. “That way I can keep my eye on the ovens.”

  Lavonne sat at the table and opened up her briefcase. She shook her head when Mona asked if she wanted a whole piece of pumpkin bread. “I’m dieting,” she explained.

  “Good for you,” Mona said. She sat down and began to pick pieces of dough off her apron.

  “Did you say you owned the space next door, too?” Lavonne asked, taking out a file and a legal pad and setting them on the table.

  “Honey, I own the whole building.”

  “Why don’t you rent it out?” Lavonne took out a pencil and set it down beside the legal pad.

  “It needs to be fixed up before I rent it out. And I need money to fix it up, which I don’t have. Your husband says it’ll take more to fix it up than it’s worth.”

  “Is that what he told you?” Lavonne said.

  “He told me he’d give me a good price.”

  “Can I ask what he offered you?”

  Mona told her. Lavonne chewed the eraser end of the pencil. She could see Little Moses through the opened doorway, still cleaning the glass.

  “Did you get an appraisal?”

  “A what?” Mona rolled the pieces of dough into little balls. She stacked them neatly like she was building a wall out of miniature stones.

  “Never mind,” Lavonne said, putting her pencil down and leaning forward with her arms resting on the table. “Mona, have you ever thought about taking a partner?”

  Mona frowned. “A partner?”

  “Yes. Someone who could bring you some operating capital. Someone who could run the business while you do what you enjoy doing, which is running the kitchen.”

  “Well, I don’t know about that.” Mona laughed, her weak eye rolling toward the ovens. “Who would I get? Who would want to buy into this dusty old place?”

  “Me,” Lavonne said. Dust whorls hung in the sunlight slanting through the window. A refrigerator hummed in the back.

  Mona looked at Lavonne like she was listening to a joke and waiting for the punchline. After a minute, she said, “You, Miz Zibolsky? You don’t need to work.”

  “I do need to work,” Lavonne said. “You don’t know how badly I need to work.” She let Mona have a few minutes to think about it. “Look, you mentioned the other day that you’re still using a ledger book. Mona, that’s crazy. A computer with the right software would save you hours in accounting time, not to mention it can track your sales, keep track of your inventory, list your depreciation—I’m sure you’re depreciating all this equipment.” She looked around the kitchen. Some of the equipment looked new.

  Mona looked doubtful. “Depreciation?” she said.

  “Who does your taxes?”

  “Cousin Solomon over in Valdosta.”

  “Well, I’m sure he knows about depreciating your equipment, but with a computer it would be so much easier to track. I’m an accountant, Mona, that’s what I do. I find loopholes, I find tax incentives, I pore over your numbers to find ways to be more cost-efficient. Marketing is new to me, too, but I’ve been reading a lot about it and I’m certain we can come up with a marketing plan that will double your sales immediately.”

  “Double my sales?” Mona said, astounded. “Why would I want to do that?”

  Lavonne smiled and looked down at her arms. She opened up the file and took out a sheet of paper. “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

  Mona shook her head, no.

  “It’s a list of people who’ve called me about you catering one of their parties. There are twelve names on the list, Mona, and that’s just the beginning.”

  “Well I’ll be,” Mona said, reaching for the paper.

  Lavonne took out another piece of paper and pushed it toward Mona. “You know what this is.”

  “Uh-huh,” Mona said. “It’s my bill for your party.” She’d handwritten it on a piece of stationery that looked like it was printed in 1948. Shapiro’s, it read across the top. Good Food, Good Times.

  “And this?” Lavonne pointed with her finger.

  “The total you owe me,” Mona said, getting the hang of this.

  “It’s not enough, Mona,” Lavonne said gently. “You’re not charging enough.”

  Mona patted her hair. “It’s what I always charge,” she said. “It’s what Big Marvin always charged.”

  “How long’s Big Marvin been dead now?”

  Mona understood what she was trying to say. She patted her hair with a trembling hand. “Catering’s hard work,” she said defensively.

  “Which is exactly why you should charge more for it,” Lavonne said. “Your food is excellent. It’s worth double this amount.” Lavonne pointed again at the total. “That’s the amount I’m going to submit to Leonard’s law firm. Double what you wrote down right here.”

  “Double?” Mona said, her good eye fluttering over Lavonne’s face. “Double?”

  “It’s hard to find caterers in this town, Mona. Believe me, I’ve tried. There’s that woman that works out of her home, but you can never get her, and there’s the Pink House Restaurant, but their food is terrible and overpriced. Most people hire someone out of Atlanta. Until now. Now everyone in town knows there’s a top-notch caterer right here in Ithaca and your phone will be ringing off the hook.”

  “It already is,” Mona said. “I took five new appointments but I had to tell the others no.”

  “See what I mean?” Lavonne sat back in her chair, smiling. “I know it’s a lot to think about, Mona, and I want you to take your time and talk it over with Little Moses. I’m going to leave you a copy of my business proposal.” She took it out and laid it on the table.

  “That’s a real pretty color,” Mona said, pointing to the cover.

  “The way I see it, we could start out slow, just adding a few catering events until we get ourselves fully staffed and I get the systems up and running. But eventually, we’ll move out of the bakery business and more into the deli business. You know, sandwiches, lunch items, maybe even breakfast items.”

  “It used to be a sandwich shop, back when Big Marvin first started up,” Mona said.

  “You’ve got a ready market, not only with the locals but also with all these tourists coming down from Atlanta,” Lavonne said, pointing through the opened doorway toward the street. “They need a good place to eat lunch. They’re used to delicatessens in the big city. We wouldn’t even have to open for the evening meal. Just lunch and maybe, eventually, breakfast.”

  Mona went to check the oven and then came back and sat down. She had the tender attentive look of a woman listening to distant music.

  “But do you know what excites me the most, Mona?” Lavonne tapped her fingers on the table like she was running numbers on an adding machine. “The Internet. The Internet could make us rich.”

  “What are we going to do?” Mona said, grinning sheepishly. “Sell sandwiches on the Internet?” She giggled and shook her head.

  Lavonne opened up her file and took out a computer-generated logo she had made last night. She’d scanned a photo of her grandmother into the computer and circled the photo with
the label: Grandma Ada’s Kosher Barbecue Sauce.

  Mona’s jaw dropped. She frowned. “That doesn’t even look like Grandma Ada,” she said.

  “I know. It’s just an example. We can make up any label you want. But think about this, Mona: How many places can you get authentic kosher barbecue sauce?” She didn’t wait for Mona to finish. “I’ll tell you: none. I couldn’t find a single Web site on the Internet that sells kosher barbecue sauce. We can set up a Web site and make a fortune!”

  “You know,” Mona said, shaking her head, “there aren’t a whole lot of Dixie Jews.”

  “That’s not our only market, Mona. Here, look, here’s some data showing the number of Jewish people in the United States broken down by geographical area.”

  Mona put on her reading glasses and took the printout from Lavonne. “Well, I’ll be,” she said after a few minutes, hiding her mouth with her fingers.

  “But it’s not just Jewish people that we’ll market to, Mona. With all the concern these days over the chemicals and preservatives being pumped into our food supply, kosher products made with all natural ingredients are being bought by a growing percentage of American consumers. Here, look at these figures.”

  Mona shook her head and looked at Lavonne, her eyes magnified behind the black-rimmed glasses. “I had no idea there were so many Hebrew folks in this country,” she said.

  “We can make up bottles and sell them here in the store. The sauce is delicious, and with the right marketing—maybe smaller bottles packed in some kind of an unusual gift box—we could sell to the tourists all day long.” Lavonne put the documents back in the file and closed it up, pushing it toward Mona. She smiled at Mona and leaned over and patted her arm. “I know it’s a lot to think about,” she said. “But you and Little Moses read the business plan and think about it. I’d love to be your partner, and the amount of operating capital I could bring to the deal is set out in my proposal. I made some guesses about your sales figures and we’ll have to make some adjustments there, but this is a good starting point.” She thumped the folder with her fingers. “You know me, Mona, you know what working with me would be like, but if you decide not to go through with this, I’ll understand. If you do decide to sell to my husband, I’d appreciate you letting me know beforehand, because it’ll change my plans, too. Whatever you do, though, don’t sell to my husband or Redmon until you get a fair market appraisal of this property. I can tell you right now, my husband’s not offering you enough. I mean, hell, Mona, if you wanted to, you could sell this property and retire tomorrow.”

  “Oh no,” she said, taking off her hairnet so her curls tumbled about her face. “What would I do if I didn’t work? I’ve worked all my life.” She wiped her hands on her floured apron. “Well” was all she could think to say. “Well.”

  “Don’t make a decision yet,” Lavonne said, rising. “Just think about it. I’m willing if you are. I think we can make a go of this, but you have to be certain, too.” She held out her hand to Mrs. Shapiro. “In the year 2010 one out of every two businesses will be owned by women,” she said.

  Mrs. Shapiro looked at Lavonne, a look of dubious admiration on her face. “Lord,” she said, shaking her head. “Is that right, Miz Zibolsky?”

  “Lavonne.”

  “What?”

  “It’s past time we got on a first-name basis.” Lavonne slid her purse strap up her shoulder. “Call me Lavonne.”

  “Well, all right then,” Mrs. Shapiro said shyly.

  “Think about it, Mona. And don’t sign anything with my husband until then.” Lavonne stopped in the open doorway. “And Mona,” she said, turning.

  “Yes, Lavonne?”

  “This is our little secret, okay? The partnership. Discuss it with Little Moses, but no one else. We have to be careful until the plan’s all set.”

  Mrs. Shapiro grinned and made an “X” over her heart. “Cross my heart. I won’t tell a soul but Little Moses,” she said.

  “I’ll call you in a few days.” Lavonne waved at Little Moses as she went out, glancing again at his T-shirt. The Shofar So Good Deli, she thought, closing the door behind her. I like the sound of that.

  CHAPTER

  * * *

  NINE

  CHARLES WAS SERIOUS about using his mother to try and talk Nita back to her senses. In the weeks leading up to his ill-fated hunting trip, he spent less and less time at home. He was becoming more and more uncomfortable in Nita’s presence, more and more aware that mental breakdowns sometimes involve violence and running amok with sharp instruments. And there was something about Nita that hadn’t been there before the firm party; he was sure of it—a stillness, a sense of contained fury, which made him nervous in her presence. Just yesterday, at breakfast, he had told her he wanted pork tenderloin for dinner and she had looked at him over the edge of her book and in a strong steady voice that brooked no argument, she had said, “We’re having chicken.”

  It left him stunned and shaken.

  The Saturday after Lavonne met with Mona Shapiro, Virginia Broadwell pulled into Nita’s driveway. It was ten o’clock and Virginia had a luncheon appointment at twelve. She really didn’t have time to run around trying to straighten out Charles’s messy domestic affairs—she had warned him years ago not to marry Nita James—but, being a dutiful mother, here she was. She went in through the garage door, which Charles had left unlocked for her. The children were in the den watching Saturday morning cartoons. Nita was on the screened porch reading Wuthering Heights.

  “Don’t get up,” Virginia said, noting that Nita made no effort to get up.

  She was wearing blue jeans and a blue V-necked sweater. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing very little makeup. “Charles isn’t here,” Nita said, not bothering to look up from her book.

  Virginia stared at her steadily, her mouth puckered in a perfect little o. “Do you have any coffee?” she asked pleasantly.

  Nita kept her eyes on the book. “In the kitchen,” she said.

  Really, this was too much. Nita might as well have been a complete stranger dropped suddenly onto the bosom of the Broadwell family. Virginia tugged on the hem of her jacket and went into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. This was going to take more work than Virginia had imagined, and might, after all, require the professional services of Dr. Guffey and his arsenal of antidepressants.

  She came back out on the porch and sat down. “Nita,” she began tentatively, settling her cup of coffee on her lap and searching for just the right words. “Charles is worried.”

  “He should be,” Nita said.

  Something in the way she said it startled Virginia. It made her feel that she should warn Charles of something, but she wasn’t sure what. Virginia’s little chin trembled. She stared at her daughter-in-law like she was trying to read tea leaves in the bottom of a cup.

  A few minutes later, Lavonne and Eadie showed up to take Nita to Logan’s soccer game. Virginia wasn’t happy to see them, and this time she made no attempt to hide it. “I really need to speak with Nita in private,” Virginia said, as they came noisily onto the porch.

  Nita looked at Virginia over the edge of her book. “If you wanted to speak to me privately, you should have called me and not just shown up. I have plans today. I don’t have time to talk to you.”

  Lavonne and Eadie looked at each other and sat down on the willow sofa.

  Virginia, dazed and uneasy, stared at the sunlight that slanted through the porch screens. She had become accustomed, over the years, to bullying and riding roughshod over Nita, but the woman sitting across from her did not seem the type who could be easily intimidated. Virginia felt suddenly and curiously timid.

  Lavonne looked at her watch. “I’d go with you guys to the soccer game, but I’ve got a twelve-thirty appointment. Are we still on for tomorrow?”

  “Yes.” Nita stretched her legs out along the lounger, ignoring her mother-in-law’s dazed look. “Mama baked a pecan pie and she was wondering if we�
�d like to meet over at her house around two-thirty. She says she hasn’t seen you and Eadie since Moby Dick was just a minnow.”

  Lavonne grinned. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

  “Meeting?” Virginia said.

  Nita looked at her coolly. “School meeting,” she said.

  Eadie poked Lavonne with her elbow. “Hey, I talked to Kari over at the bookstore about the Kudzu Ball and she said it was an absolute blast. She says it’s the best throw down this town has to offer.”

  Lavonne hadn’t thought much about the Kudzu Ball lately. She’d been too busy planning divorce and revenge to think about much else.

  “I think you should go,” Eadie said without waiting for her to reply. “I’ll go with you.”

  Now that Lavonne was no longer trying to be the dutiful wife, there was no reason why she couldn’t go to the Kudzu Ball. It was the same night the husbands returned from Montana, and either everything would have worked out by then or everything would have turned disastrous. Either way, Lavonne figured she’d probably be needing a tequila binge.

  “Okay,” she said. “It might be my only chance to be a debutante. It might be my only chance to be a queen.”

  Virginia wasn’t about to let herself get drawn into this argument again. She didn’t really care if they went to the Kudzu Ball or not. If Lavonne wanted to ruin what little social standing she had, so be it. And as for Eadie Boone, once Trevor divorced her she’d be out of the social loop anyway. She might as well go ahead and meet some new friends, because none of her old ones would be calling. Virginia glanced through the French door to the kitchen wall clock. She didn’t have much time left. If she was going to get on with this intervention, she’d have to work fast. “You look a little pale,” Virginia began, leaning toward Nita and touching her on the knee. Nita moved her leg out of the way. “Maybe it’s time you saw Dr. Guffey.”